Hermione jolted as if someone had poured ice water down her collar.
Before she could find her voice, a calm, ancient timbre rolled across the stands like a cathedral bell.
"Prefects of each house, please assist your Heads of House and escort all students back to the Great Hall to await further instructions."
Professor Dumbledore's voice, magnified by the Sonorus charm, cut cleanly through the panic.
"There has been an unforeseen development in the Task."
The old wizard's wand was still at his throat; the words rang with unmistakable finality.
The screaming died away. Thousands of faces turned toward the arena in stunned silence.
Only then did the truth sink in.
That pulsating, blood-red mountain of flesh—now taller than the Quidditch goalposts and still growing—was most certainly not one of Ethan's "little surprises."
Some of the younger students began to cry in earnest, high, broken sobs that carried over the wind.
A second later the Prefects snapped out of their daze and started herding people toward the castle, voices cracking with fear.
"Bloody hell!" Ron wailed, somewhere between laughter and tears. "Why is there always something? Every single year!"
Dean Thomas nodded so hard his braids whipped his cheeks. "They told us Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain! What, did all the previous students just… not survive long enough to complain?"
The exodus began in earnest.
Ravenclaw cleared out fastest—hardly surprising. They had Ethan Vincent in their corner, after all. Danger or no danger, the single greatest threat on school grounds usually wore a lazy smirk and a Ravenclaw tie.
In the Slytherin stands, faces had gone the color of old parchment.
Goyle stood frozen, sweat beading on that ridiculously broad forehead of his. Every pure-blood whose father wore a silver mask at night looked ready to wet themselves.
"How…" one of them whispered, biting his knuckles until they bled, "how did it turn so fast…?"
They had assumed they could keep one foot in each camp—smile at the old master, grease a few palms, and everything would stay quiet.
Malfoy's lip curled in disgust as he surveyed them.
"Too scared to break with the Dark Lord, too cowardly to stand with Ethan," he sneered, voice low and venomous. "Enjoy your extinction."
Ethan, unlike the Ministry, didn't do gentle warnings.
Ethan dragged people into the light and made them drown in it.
Malfoy turned toward the slowly advancing mountain of meat and whispered—fervent, almost prayerful—"Lord Ethan… beat him. Become the one we follow."
Meanwhile, against the tide of fleeing bodies, one slight figure slipped the other way.
Pale blonde hair flashed between the hedges.
Rustle, rustle.
The thorns parted for her like curtains.
She was one step from vanishing into the maze when a hand clamped around her wrist.
"Luna!"
Hermione wheezed, chest heaving from the sprint. "Are you insane? Dumbledore said go to the castle!"
Luna turned. Even now, with that thing blotting out half the sky, her expression was dreamy, faraway.
"Ethan's still inside," she said simply, as if that explained everything. "I'm going to find him."
Hermione's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. She sucked in a breath, counted to three, and tried for calm.
"We are students. We follow the professors' orders."
She bit her lip hard enough to taste iron.
Yes. Against something that grotesque—something not even in Moste Potente Monstrous Compendium—what could two girls possibly do?
"Ethan is strong," she pressed on. "He'll be fine."
Luna tilted her head. Hermione looked up—and froze.
There was no fear in those huge, pale eyes. Only bright, glittering excitement.
"I've never seen a proper Dark Lord before," Luna said happily, almost singing. "What a splendid opportunity! I bet this counts as our Defense Against the Dark Arts practical~"
"We can't let Ethan have all the fun."
Hermione choked. "You're utterly mad…"
Normal people ran away from mountain-sized abominations, they didn't treat them like a field trip!
"Don't worry," Luna soothed. She reached out and stroked the nearest thorn bush; the vines curled lovingly around her fingers like cats. "The maze is alive. The Queen of Hearts is watching. It will keep us safe."
Hermione opened her mouth—then caught the pronoun.
"Us?"
Luna's smile widened. She glanced past Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione turned.
And very nearly fainted.
Fred and George Weasley—grinning like Christmas had come early—stood flanked by Neville (clutching his wand like a club), Ginny (eyes blazing), Cho Chang (cheeks pink), Lee Jordan, and half a dozen Hufflepuffs Hermione barely recognized.
Justin Finch-Fletchley's face was scarlet with righteous fury. "This is for Cedric!" he declared, voice cracking. "We're not all cowards just because we're Hufflepuffs!"
Hannah Abbott squeaked, "F-for Ethan…!"
Cho mumbled something that might have been agreement, hiding behind her hair.
Hermione's brain short-circuited.
These weren't random students. These were the Enlightenment Society—kids who had already fought goblins in the streets of London. They looked eager.
Luna gave Hermione the gentlest, looniest smile in the history of smiles, lifted her wand, and flicked it once.
Whoosh.
A towering Patronus burst into existence beside her: a ghostly blue moose easily five meters tall, antlers twisted like ancient weaponry.
"Then let's go," Luna said softly.
Ethan, wait for me.
I'm coming.
"CHARGE!" the Weasley twins bellowed in perfect unison, pockets bulging with what were definitely not regulation fireworks.
In loose knots of three, the students slipped between the hedges and vanished into the green gloom.
…They've all lost their minds, Hermione thought dizzily.
Then she stamped her foot, spun on her heel, and ran after them.
"Wait! I'm coming too!"
Gryffindor, remember?
From the professors' stand, Severus Snape watched the little horde swagger into the maze like they were off to Hogsmeade for butterbeer.
His molars ground audibly.
He had a sudden, vicious desire to deduct five hundred points.
"Do we stop them, Headmaster?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles. "No, Severus. Let them go. Some lessons can only be learned by walking into the fire."
"They are children."
"I know." Dumbledore's voice grew quiet. He stared at the approaching crimson tide, fingers tightening around the Elder Wand. "We have sheltered them too long. That was our failure."
He exhaled, something ancient and weary in the sound.
"But this time, under Mr. Vincent's banner… I believe we may yet see a kinder ending."
Snape said nothing. Memory flashed behind his eyes—red hair, green eyes, a laugh like summer.
He drew a slow breath and raised his wand.
If Ethan wasn't here, then they would hold the line.
BOOM!!
A spear of crimson lightning tore across the sky and punched straight through Voldemort's swollen torso, nailing the monstrosity to the earth.
[ROAR—!!]
The scream rattled windows in the castle.
Flesh bubbled and hissed, trying to swallow the spear whole.
"Break," Ethan said, almost bored.
He slashed two fingers through the air.
BOOM!!!
A roaring dragon of scarlet-orange fire erupted, ancient and primal, coiling around Voldemort like living fury.
[UGHHAAA!!!]
The Dark Lord's shriek this time was pure agony.
Ethan breathed out, tasting copper and smoke.
The Elixir of Life sang in his veins—without it, those two spells would have left him gulping Wit-Sharpening Potion like water.
Still…
"Not enough," he muttered, watching new meat surge to replace the old.
Immortal. Endless.
Voldemort's voice slithered out, wet and triumphant.
[Impressive, boy… but the power granted to me has no limit!]
[How can a mortal insect hope to fell destiny itself?]
[DIE!]
Tentacles whipped toward him. Ethan sliced them apart without looking, mind racing.
My current arsenal can stall him. Nothing more.
Guess I've got no choice.
His eyes narrowed, a feral grin spreading across his face—half dread, half delight.
Time for the ultimate technique…
"On-the-Spot Card Making!"
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